


Shell Shock

by remembertowrite



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Angry Alex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag: Hush Little Baby, F/M, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Strong Language, Tumblr prompt from E_Salvatore, angsty fluff, gentle Strand, spoilers through 203
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembertowrite/pseuds/remembertowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex is a ticking time bomb. And today, Richard's been drafted onto the bomb squad. Based off a prompt: "Tol is the soft gentle kind half of the OTP and Smol is a tiny ball of rage."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shell Shock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [E_Salvatore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/gifts).



> This was written in response to a prompt from [E_Salvatore](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore) on Tumblr: “[Tol is the soft gentle kind half of the OTP and Smol is a tiny ball of rage.](http://eleanor-3.tumblr.com/post/140130366082/smol-and-tol-prompts)” It was originally published on [Tumblr](http://surely-you-jess.tumblr.com/post/140200613213/stragan-prompt-response) on Feb. 29, 2016.

“I cannot _fucking_ believe this,” she spits, possibly at him, possibly to the general air of the PNWS studio. She takes her arm and sweeps it across the top of her desk, plowing all of the files stacked there into a banker’s box she’s lined up against the desk. One stack of collated paper lands in a satisfying _thud_ inside the box, but others escape their intended trajectory and flutter across the floor like they’re fleeing in terror from the ticking time bomb that is Alex Reagan.

Richard would do the same, except today he’s been drafted onto the bomb squad.

“Dr. Strand, _please_ ,” Nic had begged, deep distress evident on his normally lethargic face. “When you’re around, Alex calms down. She listens to you.”

A year of disagreements had disproved that theory. Alex has trusted everyone from charlatan psychics to criminally insane teenagers, taking their stories at face value. Richard is the only one she’s constantly challenged or demanded further proof from. It frustrates him enormously, at times almost overcoming the respect he affords her.

It is only for that respect that he dares to approach her in her agitated state. He’s never seen her like this. Alex can get defensive, but he’s never witnessed the sheer belligerence. She’s normally empathetic to a maddening level, drawing focus away from the mission (and keeping him alive and fed: this past week in the studio, she’s brought him more tea and sandwiches than any man can reasonably stomach).

“This is such _bullshit_ ,” snaps the kind soul he’s been musing over. She falls to her knees in a huff, snatching papers off the ground in a frenzy. Dust from the floor marks the knees of her khakis. Her hands shake in anger, and the papers she’s holding flutter like she’s trying to relieve the red flush creeping up onto her neck.

“Alex,” he tries, dropping his voice to the low, soft baritone that works best for persuasion (and that, for some reason, Alex has been particularly susceptible to in the past few weeks).

“Don’t even start with me,” she warns as she shoves the collected papers into the box. Her whole body is trembling violently.

“Calm down. You’re being irrational,” he says.

She glares up at him, and he’s reminded of a pit bull, teeth bared, ready to bite.

“Please,” he adds diplomatically. “Please, Alex.”

“Fuck you, Richard.”

It’s a shock, to hear such vulgarity coming from her tiny form, to hear such hatred echoing in her normally affectionate words. It stings. He’s taken her simple kindnesses for granted.

“Nic told me what happened. How you found that housekeeper. I’m sure it was… difficult.”

“I can handle myself. I’m _fine_.” Her eyes are on fire with the passion that drew him to her in the first place. He had admired it then, but now he recognizes it as an idiotic and determined lack of self-preservation.

She must’ve noticed his disapproving look, because she further justifies herself: “I don’t see Nic being forced to take a ‘mental health sabbatical’ even though he was right there with me when we found Maddie.”

“When you illegally broke into her apartment,” he corrects her. Then, softer: “When you found her hanging from the ceiling. Alex, that’s distressing to anyone.”

She’s still shaking, but it wracks her whole body now. Her jittery hands reach overhead for her purse, and she pulls it over the edge of the desk. The purse dives to its death, and its innards scatter across the floor, splattering the tile with oozing red nail polish and the cream of her concealer. A few pill bottles roll across the scuffed tile, and Alex dives for one while Richard catches the other under his foot. He sinks to the balls of his feet and picks up the bottle.

Anxiety medication. A strong dosage.

His heart pounds in his chest as he thumbs the label, eyes glued to the pills inside. He can’t bring himself to look at Alex.

He should’ve suspected. The black circles under her eyes and the sickening pallid color of her skin are dead giveaways, in hindsight.

“Christ, Alex.”

“I thought you were an atheist,” she breathes out shakily, her voice vacillating between humor and despair.

He exhales the ghost of a laugh before he notices the ruddy tear stains on her face, the trembling hands. He offers her a wordless half-embrace.

Here they are, on the floor of her office, two broken people.

“Maybe I do need a vacation,” she mumbles into his chest, her tiny frame sagging into his. “Do you think there’s a travel website for the top demon-free destinations?”

Her ridiculous question coaxes out a real laugh.

“Oh don’t be so judgy,” she says with a snort, and he holds her tighter.


End file.
